


Sabotage

by paranoid_fridge



Category: James Bond (Craig movies), Skyfall (2012) - Fandom
Genre: Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-01-02
Updated: 2013-01-16
Packaged: 2017-11-23 10:44:15
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 3
Words: 9,274
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/621240
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/paranoid_fridge/pseuds/paranoid_fridge
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Equipment failures and disappearing items are the first clue something strange is going on at MI6. Then a bomb explodes.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. One

**Author's Note:**

> As I'm new to ao3 please forgive any formatting mistakes. Also, the story is crossposted from ff.net - meanwhile I'll try to find time to write something else. ^__^

The first glitch revealed itself early on.

Q had just passed Bond his latest equipment - another gun and locator chip - and had immediately engaged the tracking system once the agent had left. Or rather, he tried to - the system replied that there was no signal to be found. Which was odd; and after three checks of the programs functionality and the satellite, Q could only conclude that the equipment was actually faulty.

***

Two weeks later Bond was in Guangzhou, his gun aimed at a wealthy Mafiosi - one who had been clever enough to escape the law, until both, British and Chinese government had agreed he needed to be done away with. Quietly. Now Bond sat in an empty office tower, with a good view of said target sitting behind a computer, took aim...

And nothing happened.

Back in HQ about everybody stopped what they were doing. Q set his mug down."007. Report."

"The gun isn't working," was the reply.

The gun was brand-new, custom-made and had not been used after Q himself had handed it over to Bond. Q swallowed - faulty equipment would cost his head, and he was very, very lucky this was not a life or death situation. Still, bad, especially since this was a rare cooperation. M was not going to be happy.

"007, there's an armed guard four floors down, asleep at his desk. Perhaps you can borrow his equipment?" Q suggested.

"That should work well enough," said Bond, and it did.

***

Q was anxious enough to have wanted to pick the Walther (and Bond) up at the airport himself, but then somebody tried to hack the London stock exchange, and the resulting cyber war lasted a good twenty hours - ending about one hour prior to Bond's arrival at MI6 headquarters.

"Maybe old-school would be more pragmatic than fragile high-tech weaponry?" said Bond as he set the Walther down on Q's desk.

"Says the man who wanted an exploding pen," retorted Q, but there was no energy behind his words. He had been at work for thirty hours by now, and while this was not the first time, it was starting to show.

"Though for now, you may want to go down and pick up something with Mr. Webber from storage," said Q, "I'll check what went wrong with this one."

Bond nodded, and raised an eyebrow when Q shuffled out of his office behind him.

"Going home?" he asked. Q shook his head.

"Tea," he said, lifting his cup, while locking the door behind him.

"You lock your office for that?" asked Bond. Even M did not lock his office - especially if he wasn't away long.

Q shrugged. "Some things went missing."

Upon seeing Bond's concerned expression, he added: "Nothing important. Just pen, notes, mugs... small stuff."

There had been reports and papers disappearing as well, but nothing that had held sensitive information. Just annoying paperwork he'd had to do again. At least signing records didn't take very long...

Bond gave him a side long glance, and Q could see him think the one thing Q himself had been wondering: there was a very valid, if unlikely, possibility that due to a lack of sleep he had just misplaced said items himself. Which made him look even more incompetent than the defect Walther already had. However right now he was far too tired to defend himself.

"I will contact you later, 007," said Q and turned to make his way to the staff kitchen.

***

Being back in the armory brought up a number of memories. Bond had been down here countless times - this place had survived the bombs, the remodeling and the move of Q branch to another part of the complex. Even the face, George Webber, was familiar.

"007," said Webber, who had been the old Q's right hand, "Good to see you back! You rarely get to see anybody down here nowadays, and if, all they're looking for is papers and plans. Those kids don't build anything anymore... But enough ramblings, what can I do for you?"

Bond felt his lips form a smile, "Actually I'm looking for a temporary replacement gun. But you wouldn't happen to store any exploding pens, would you?"

Webber laughed. He was tall - taller than Bond, in his early fifties, though he looked a lot of younger due to working out a lot. They met sometimes in the gym, and while Webber did spend more time commemorating the good old times than working out, he was still rather pleasant company.

"Sure, just follow me," he said.

***

An hour later Q said in his office, head hurried in his hands and a migraine pounding behind his temples. Before him rested the dismantled Walther - and he had tested it five times already, but there was no other conclusion. Somebody had fiddled with it. Somebody had made certain the Walther wouldn't work - and that somebody had to be from within the MI6.

***

Bond and Webber were just chatting over an old wristwatch - that could be used to remote control small explosives, shoot poisoned needles or emit sleeping gas - when the contact in Bond's ear came to life.

"007," Q did sound exhausted, even over the headset, "As you're still in the building, would you mind stopping by my office?"

"Roger," Bond replied, and the headset went off again.

"Q wants to see me," he said to Webber.

Webber raised an eyebrow. "Bossy, isn't he? Not even here for a year and the department has been turned on its head. I don't know what M was thinking, giving a kid power like that..."

Bond felt like sympathizing - but then again, when he was out in the field Q's skills had more than once saved his life.

***

“Bond,” said Q, “Sit down.”

The agent raised an eyebrow, but did not protest. Q closed the door, locked it, and then more or less collapsed down into the other chair himself. His hair was worse than it had been an hour ago. Bond said nothing, and waited patiently, silently amused at how distraught Q looked.

“Bond, I examined your Walther, and it has been sabotaged. Somebody changed the fingerprint recognition, wiping all data...” Q frowned, “Did anybody but you touch it?”

Bond shook his head. 

He had been asleep on the plane, but he was confident enough that he would have woken up if somebody had tried removing his gun from his person.

Q pressed his lips together, unhappy. “I thought so. Unless you recall anything else, we have to assume somebody here was behind this. I don’t know if they wanted for you to get in trouble, or what their aim was, but...”

“How many people could wipe the memory?” asked Bond, interrupting Q.

“Everybody with level 3 security clearance,” said Q, “That would be almost a thousand people in the MI6.”

“And the know-how?”

“It’s not that hard,” said Q, “Wiping the memory. Reprogramming is more difficult, but deleting the memory is comparably easy. And the instructions are online – mostly for those overseas, but also they’re also accessible here if you have the clearance required.”

Bond felt uneasy about it, but remained silent. Q carried on. “Which means there are far too many possible suspects; and we don’t even know what the aim was. Maybe an inside job by somebody who wants you dead. Maybe somebody who wanted to make us look incompetent before the Chinese. I have no idea... But I believe you want to be careful, and I would recommend testing your weapons here before leaving in the future.”

“Understood,” said Bond, “Have you already informed M?”

Q sighed. “I’ll do that now.”

***

M was visibly unhappy about the news.

“I guess then we’ll have to upgrade our security measures. Again,” he sighed, “And maybe not share sensitive information concerning our agents’ equipment online?”

“We could further restrict access,” said Q, “However the online information is rather crucial at the oversea checkpoints – they won’t be able to repair anything there, else wise.”

“What would you suggest, then?” Truth to be said, Mallory, like most, had been apprehensive about their new quartermaster. Though as far as he could tell, Q did good work, so skipping ahead on the career path had done no harm.

“Make the information available only to technical staff with a level 2 clearance, and the agents,” suggested Q.

M nodded. “I will see to it, then,” he said, “And go get some sleep.”

***

Moneypenny was back at her desk when Q left M's office. She glanced up, and then raised both eyebrows.

"And when was the last time you saw your bed?"

"Good day to you too," said Q, "It has been a while, I think."

"Seeing as the tie is the same as the one you wore yesterday, I'm inclined to believe you," said Eve, "For all our sakes, as well as England's, I hope you're going home?"

"I might," replied Q. He had reported the incident, seen to it that 007 got another gun - and there was no cyber-attack happening right now, thus he might just sneak out.

"Great," said Moneypenny, "Take this with you - it's food. For eating, you know. The human http://archiveofourown.org/works/new#body tends to require it, the same way it requires sleep, just in case you forgot."

Q managed a small smile, and received one in return. “What would I do without you?”

“England would fall,” said Eve, “But that’s old news.”

***

Bond did not actually go home after the meeting with Q. Instead he had gone to gym, and spent a good while training – it was becoming a satisfying experience, now that he was almost completely back in shape. And while he may have gotten older, his reflexes and stamina had only improved.

Webber joined him for half an hour, muttering about security leaks. Bond didn’t reveal what he knew, but he agreed with Webber’s distrust of computers connected to the internet. When Bond eventually was on his way back to his own flat, walking past Q branch, an explosion went off.

He's almost thrown off his feet, and had to catch himself against the wall. Then he'd turned back, ran toward the next door, even though the floor was still trembling. Bond wasn't even out of breath when he burst into the room – but his pulse was pounding.Sabotage, Q had said.

There's smoke, but not too much, and Bond was almost relieved to see most of the department's large screens still intact. Actually, he could make out the site of the detonation against the right wall, where a desk and computer equipment have been eradicated, leaving a dark, smoking spot in space. People were yelling, but there was no panic.

Bond heard Q order somebody to get medical here, fast, and for somebody else to check their mainframe, heighten security parameters and make certain no hacker gets through – and no, if they miss out on a government email that won't matter as long as their security is not compromised. Bond let his gun – a normal Walther – slip back under his suit, and walked further in, carful not to step on any of the debris.

There was nothing he could help with – the damaged equipment was handled by experts, and the injured staff was handled by not-quite-experts for the time being. Two appeared very bad off, with burns covering most their exposed skin, but somebody had already brought water, and Bond knew medical staff would be there in less than a minute.

He looked for Q, and caught sight of him seated in a charred office chair, calmly giving instructions while somebody pressed a towel in his hand. When medical staff arrived, and all firewalls had been made operational, Bond approached Q. The young quartermaster looked a mess – sleep-deprived, skinny and with a nice, bloody gash on the side of his head – but his expression was calm.

"What was it?" Bond asked.

Q glanced at him. "Apparently a piece of equipment somebody left for an analysis. I did not really get a look at it before it exploded."

"A bomb?" Bond raised an eyebrow. Q branch has very specific standards on how suspected explosive or dangerous materials are to be delivered, lest the entire branch is accidentally infected by some biological weapon.

"So it would seem," replied Q flatly. Bond said nothing, which was fine since one of the medics had noticed Q's injury. So Bond turned and surveyed the room. The explosive did not do much damage. No vital equipment had been damaged, and nobody died. Still… Whoever is behind this had to be one of their own.

_tbc_


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Thank you very much for reading! I apologize for the delayed update, but here it is!

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> In case I forgot to mention it previously, I do not own the franchise nor the characters I am playing with.

It didn't take long for M to arrive on the scene. MI6's latest head strode into the department, surveyed the damage and then headed straight for Q, Moneypenny following him on clicking heels.

"What happened?" M asked with a frown.

Q glanced up from his chair, weariness written across his face, while one of the medics was carefully patching up a cut on his forehead.

"A small explosive as far as I can tell," said Q, "We will have to look at the surveillance tape to find out more."

"Any idea how it got in?" asked M.

"Apparently it was an item handed in for analysis," replied Q.

M frowned, and Q felt like ducking away from his gaze. This made the second major incident in Q-branch within a few weeks, and while it was not his fault somebody somewhere had apparently missed an explosive device, he was still the person in charge.

"We will know more after we examined the surveillance tapes. Also, there ought to be an electronic trail of the item, and we can analyze the debris to conclude what type of explosive was used, sir," said Q, "While the latter may take a week, I believe we may be able to present preliminary results later today."

He was not certain whether 'later today' would actually be today still, and not tomorrow, but then he hadn't glanced at a clock for a while.

M still did not appear happy, but Q's words were enough to mollify him for the time being. "Very well. Any serious injuries?"

"Mr Ganesh and Miss Turkan suffered burns, to my knowledge," replied Q, "I believe medical would have more detailed knowledge on their conditions."

M nodded, cast a glance around and eventually spied the vice-head of MI6's medical department a few meters away, chatting with Bond of all people.

"Very well," said M, then allowed a rare display of concern to cross his face, "And how are you?"

Q glanced away, recalling M's earlier instruction to get some rest, and also the two colleagues that had been carried out with burns just minutes ago. "Adequate," was the best answer he could find.

M frowned a little at that, but then turned and made his way over to Bond and the vice-head of medical, while Moneypenny lingered behind.

"I thought you had gone home?" she inquired without any pretext.

Q shrugged, "I intended to. Then the place blew up."

"And thus, you are not going to go home soon either," concluded Moneypenny with a raised eyebrow.

"I doubt it," said Q, "You heard M. And I'm rather interested in figuring out what happened myself."

He managed to cut himself off before he added "before anything else happens", but Moneypenny still heard it. Her face assumed a worried expression.

"Any theories yet?" she asked, keeping her tone light.

Q glanced at the staff surrounding them. The frantic activity had calmed down, and there was no one in earshot – the medic had bandaged his head injury and left immediately.

"A number," he replied evenly.

"Well, I would recommend you to sleep a few hours before trying to puzzle it out, then," said Eve, "Most humans do think better then."

Q managed to give her a tired smile in response. "I won't protest that notion, but I'd rather have this solved sooner than later."

"If I may interrupt, it shouldn't be impossible to do both," said a third voice, and Webber joined their conversation, nodding at Moneypenny in greeting, "I may not be too familiar with computer languages, but there are a number of personnel here quite capable of analyzing videotapes. And the old Q showed me a trick or two when it comes to examining bomb remains."

Webber smiled. "How about it, boss? You catch up on your sleep, and we'll wake you up when we're finished with the preliminary work."

Q hesitated, but Moneypenny joined in. "I think that sounds reasonable. There's a nice couch in the meeting room next to M's office – and I'm the only one who has the key."

* * *

Meanwhile M had gotten a status update from the vice-head of medical. He was relieved to hear that burns, while severe, were the worst of the injuries sustained, and while those two employees would be on leave for a week at least, nobody had been killed.

Bond lingered after the man from medical had left, and M directed an inquisitive look at the double-oh agent.

"What is it, 007?" M asked, and if his tone was annoyed, he didn't care. There had been an incident in Doha earlier today he actually needed to look into, a situation brewing in Morocco that might need closer monitoring and another rumor concerning North Korea and missiles – he didn't have time for disruptions within the agency, much less for those caused by stupid mistakes.

"You believe this was an accident," said Bond, his expression unreadable.

M pressed his lips together. "If you suspect differently, speak up, 007."

Instead the agent assumed an air of nonchalance. "I couldn't help but think of the incident with my Walther in Guangzhou. Q suspects sabotage. What if this is related?"

He shrugged his shoulders, while M pursed his lips. MI6's boss failed to comment, and Bond left the office, intend to join Moneypenny and Webber in analyzing the surveillance data.

M kept staring at the place where Bond had stood, while outside first raindrops began to platter against the window.

If these incidents were connected their saboteur was far more dangerous than initially anticipated.

* * *

The video analysis did not reveal much. Along with all other items directed to the Q branch for closer examination, the explosive had arrived in a plain white envelope that had remained unopened until its detonation. Also, the mid-thirty employee in-house communications could only shrug helplessly and inform them he had retrieved said envelope together with everything else from the armory.

In short the trail of the explosive was lost there, since at some point the device had obviously passed through one part of the armory that had – for good reason – no video surveillance.

Webber turned to his audience – Bond and Moneypenny – and shrugged. "Everybody could have dropped it with the other stuff there. I doubt any computer analysis will yield different results."

"A mistake, then?" asked Moneypenny.

"Most likely," replied Webber, "People have become a bit lax in sticking to the rules ever since the latest Q was appointed. Maybe because he's not enough of an authority or so."

Moneypenny tilted her head, while Bond kept his expression straight.

* * *

Once Webber had left, Moneypenny turned to Bond. "Did you hear anything that people are doubting Q's authority?" she inquired.

"No," replied Bond, "While I suppose most of the field agents had some doubts in the beginning, I believe we're well past that by now."

Moneypenny nodded. "Same here. Recently 003 even remarked how much smoother things went lately, with Q able to open doors on the other side of the world."

"Believe me, I share the sentiment," replied Bond with a smirk, "Maybe somebody else? The other department heads?"

Moneypenny chuckled. "Are a bunch of grumpy, elderly men. Of course they're suspicious, but they've also been convinced. They're only still hesitant to drag Q along to any meeting with government representatives – which is just as well, since I believe Q is not inclined to meet any of them."

"Who is ever," said Bond.

* * *

M glanced at Moneypenny. Once he had seen her return to her desk, he had asked her to come into his office – not because he wanted her to be his "spy" on the proceedings, but he was genuinely concerned. As far as he could tell, Eve shared said concern – and he trusted her to, if she chose to keep information from him, be selective about it.

"So either a chain of mistakes, or an inside job, you say?" he asked.

His secretary smiled confidently at him, revealing just how much she was still a field agent at heart. "The latter seems more probable, I believe. Actual mistakes rarely happen in Q-branch, after all."

M leaned back in his leather chair. "If our security has been compromised, we need to take measures. You know how important the knowledge stored in that branch is."

Eve calmly nodded. "And whoever is behind this has already had ample opportunities to sell said knowledge to the highest bidder. Since however nothing of this sort has occurred, there may be other motives at hand."

M raised an eyebrow. "What then?"

She smiled. "I'm not certain, however 007 is looking into it, I believe."

* * *

Q woke on the couch – a monstrous leather construct that looked like it had survived both World Wars and the Cold War. It wasn't uncomfortable, but at some point Q had to acknowledge he wasn't going to get any restful sleep when all his brain did was to summon up nightmarish visions whenever he closed his eyes.

As such, he decided it was best to get the crisis over with, and then just collapse somewhere. Preferably his own bed, but this or any other couch would do as well.

The sky outside was darkening, and while the view of London in twilight was nice, Q was a little taken aback at his own reflection. A mirror, mounted to the inside of one large oaken closet, painted no better picture; he looked a wreck.

Medical had wrapped a provisory bandage around his head, making his hair look even worse than usual, the shadows under his eyes were about to become solid and his shirt collar was bloodied. This was not how one inspired confidence among employees; or impressed ones capability of problem solving on his boss.

Thus, he made a trek to the gym showers, picking up a change of clothes from his office – and after that managed to track down Bond and Webber in one of the smaller, windowless meeting rooms.

Both appeared vaguely surprised to see him there, but readily shared their results: the explosive had been in a plain white envelope that had been delivered jointly with all other internal communication. Tracking it this way brought no results.

There was a short email from the team doing the chemical analysis, as they had managed to identify the explosive's main compounds, but that in itself wasn't quite helpful either. Q felt like groaning – the rest of the analysis could take ages.

Webber took the defeat slump of his boss's shoulders as a sign to quietly leave the room, but Bond made no move to rise.

"Is there anything else?" Q asked, as Bond waited until the door had closed.

"Earlier you suggested the attacks may have been meant for me," said Bond, leaning forward, "However I don't think that is the case."

Q sighed. "Well, there was your signaling device, and then your gun. But the explosion… if it was connected we could discard that theory, but as long as we don't know, I would suggest remaining on guard."

Bond nodded. "Very well, but if these incidents are connected…"

"That would imply whoever is trying to sabotage MI6 is not really doing a very good job," replied Q, "All they're doing is endangering personnel and making me look incompetent."

"What if that is their aim?" asked Bond.

Q blinked, surprised. "Why would…" then he shook his head, "I suppose we should entertain that idea. However unless we find further proof, we should assume what is most likely."

* * *

After leaving Q's office, Bond contemplated returning to his flat.

However the atmosphere felt too tense, too fragile for him to leave – other men might instinctually left places where traces of danger still hung in the air, but never James Bond. By now he was fairly certain the explosion had not been an accident, even though he had to admit that the motif of their saboteur could not be recognized. Unless there had been a mistake – and their saboteur had intended to blow up the building instead of triggering just such a small-scale explosion.

Whatever happened next, he planned to stay on the site.

Instead of going home he went to M's office to review the events in Guangzhou. Apparently the Mafiosi Bond had taken out there had been financing a terror cell in Morocco – they had almost been ready to strike, and M cautioned Bond to remain ready in case he had to travel south on short notice.

* * *

It had been a spur of the moment idea. When Q had read the preliminary analysis of the explosive, he had noted a rare chemical being used, and then proceeded to check MI6's own stores. To his shock he found a miniature explosive device that could be remote controlled by a wristwatch had been removed only hours before the explosion.

And to him the computer also revealed whose authorization codes had been used to access the storage.

Q swallowed. Both, lingering fatigue and the pounding headache behind his temples disappeared, only to be replaced by a chilling discomfort.

Dreading the results, he pulled up the records from the surveillance cameras, only to find those pictures matching his expectations. Next, he accessed the data describing the chemical compounds of MI6's explosives, and found another match.

It wasn't entirely unthinkable that these designs were known to another party. They were old enough, and MI6 did run into trouble with double agents and traitors from time to time.

Which suggested the bomb had been planted by somebody on the inside, too – just as Bond's gun had been sabotaged by an insider. The log from armory showed Webber removing two exploding devices earlier on – now he only had to find out who they had been given to.

Or if they had been given away at all, but Q did not want to think about this possibility.

* * *

"007, wait a moment. As it appears, Q has had some news on the investigation," said M, as Bond was half-way out of the door already.

Bond raised an eyebrow. He hadn't heard anything, and he didn't think he, Moneypenny and Webber had missed anything when analyzing the surveillance data.

"Email," said M, nodding at his notebook.

Bond took this as an invitation to stay, and closed the door again. He could watch how M's expression changed as he read the email – how the man's face became dead serious.

"Apparently the explosive's signature matches explosives manufactured by Q branch a while ago. Very small, and they can be remote-detonated by a wristwatch," said M.

Even though M's eyes were glued to the screen, Bond made certain to keep his expression straight. Webber had just given him one of those earlier today – irony, or something else?

"And two of these have been removed from storage by Webber himself today," continued M.

Webber had given one to Bond. The other one had been put on Webber's desk, next to a pile of white envelopes.

M abruptly stood, reached for his suit jacket, and made no move to hide the gun in its interior pocket from view. "Q's already down there, speaking to Webber – I'll be joining this conversation. You're free to follow."

* * *

"Mr. Webber," said Q, approaching the taller man who was bent over a worktable, adjusting a small gun, "Thank you for your support earlier on."

Webber nodded.

Q swallowed. "Well, going through the records I found that the chemical pattern of the explosive used matches those we store here; and that there was a removal of such using your authorization codes."

Webber's face straightened out. Without the grin, the man looked far less likeable. "I did, didn't I? However I did give the device to 007."

When Q's expression didn't relax, he added: "I know it wasn't authorized, but I believe 007 is more than capable of handling explosives."

Q felt unease coiling in his stomach. Webber was confirming his worst fears. "Mr. Webber, the records show you removed two devices, not one. What happened to the other item?"

And Webber's expression became completely blank. His earlier good humor disappeared like a mask – and that was all it had ever been, if his eyes did tell the truth.

"Your fancy computer programs tell you that, don't they," said Webber, slowly, "And yet they don't tell you what happened to the other item?"

He straightened up, and Q had to remind himself not to step backwards. The man's physique was imposing, even more so in the quiet space of the armory.

"I suppose a detailed analysis of the chemical remains will indicate where the envelope came from," said Q, "And possibly also who touched it."

He frowned. "Mr. Webber, unless you speak up now, I have to suspend you from duty immediately due to the pressing suspicion of your responsibility for at least two acts of sabotage."

Instead of being impressed, a dark grin spread over Webber's face. "Oh, sure, use your authority over me. Let's see what good it does."

Q blinked. Sweat was forming on his forehead. "You aren't even denying it…" he muttered, horrified.

"And why should I? Your modern technical knickknack is going to figure it out eventually, so yes, I send that bomb. And you know what? I also sabotaged 007's gun, his sender, sent that virus to the mainframe and picked papers from your office. And I remote-controlled the bomb, too," Webber leaned against the table, his position relaxed, but there was rage in his eyes.

This time Q took the step back. "Why?" he asked, and only training kept his voice sounding authorative and firm.

"Come on, kid, you're young, but I know you aren't stupid," said Webber, "Do you honestly think I worked thirty years in this department only to be ignored for a green kid when they had to pick a new head?

Almost casually Webber let his hand drop to his side, close to the gun he had been working on earlier. And Q realized he had to get out, because somewhere the man had obviously snapped. Carefully, he began to inch toward the door.

"I believe there were health concerns," said Q, just to keep Webber talking.

Webber snorted. "Hacked my personal file, didn't you? Yes, I don't have all that long to live if the doctors are to be trusted, and while it's nice they wanted to give me some downtime – how am I supposed to spend it? I don't have a family; all I have is that job. And it would have been nice if they had acknowledged my work at some point."

The door wasn't far, and Q wondered if he should run. But Webber seemed unstable enough to just shoot him in the back – letting the man gloat was a better option.

"I doubt it will be acknowledged now," said Q, keeping his voice even, "What was your intention, anyway?"

Webber's fingers closed around the gun. "No, they will not. But I don't care about that – they wouldn't have acknowledged me anyway. And while I understand I won't ever get the position, I'm not going to let a kid walk all over me and everyone else who worked so hard here."

And then the gun's up, and Q realized he had to run. He barely managed two steps before the gun went off, and a searing pain flared up in his leg. With a hiss he collapsed, his shoulder slamming into a desk on the way down, and for a moment he only saw stars.

Then Webber was there, looming over him, gun calmly pointed down.

"I don't think so," was all Webber said, "You have no idea what you did, do you? How would you feel if you spent thirty years of your live making clever weapons and toys, and then a brat barely out of college waltzes in and decides all your department does from now on is computers and computers again. Oh, maybe a gun or two – just to keep those elderly folks busy."

The pain was debilitating. Q hardly heard any of Webber's rant over the pounding of his own heart. Hot, wet liquid spilled over his fingers, and he had to bite his lip to stop himself from screaming.

"But I don't really care anymore, to be honest. It's strange how realizing you will never get what you worked for all your live changes your priorities," there was a manic edge to Webber's smile, and Q wanted to tell him what all was wrong with his words – but he couldn't.

There was a state-of-the-art smart phone in his pocket, among other paraphernalia, all supposed to alert MI6 to an emergency. Yet completely useless as he did not dare to move his hands out of Webber's direct view.

He could however close his hand around a cable lying on the ground just behind Webber, and pull.

Webber stumbled backwards, and would have regained his balance, had Q not made use of the split second and tackled Webber; grabbing his legs and causing him to fall backwards, ignoring the searing pain in his own leg. A shot went wide, hit the ceiling, and then Webber's head connected with the floor with a hard sound.

Q didn't wait to see if the man had passed out, he tried to grab the gun, but Webber was a split second faster, and instead of closing around the gun itself, Q's hands landed on Webbers wrist – the impact was hard, and the gun went flying, clattering to the floor half-way to the door, and Q caught sight of Webber's face distorted by rage, before a blow to the shoulder sent him back to the floor. His glasses slipped off –

He wanted to scramble for the gun – there was no chance he could match Webber's well-trained physique – but the Webber had other plans. Somehow he had gotten hold of the cable Q had used to trip him –

And Q only realized his unfortunate position when Webber pulled both ends of the cable, crossed them over Q's throat and pulled. His body jerked in response, something crashed to the ground behind them, he threw out an arm and left bloody scratches down Webber's face.

In the back of his mind a voice was screaming at him to go for Webber's eyes or throat, but he couldn't even see, and his vision was growing darker, the pounding of his heart louder, and panic had him claw ineffectively at Webber's sturdy wrists.

The pressure didn't abate. Instead, the pain from his leg began to dull, and then his hands weakened.

Seconds later, Q's eyes closed and his body went still.

 

_tbc_


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> As this is a work of fiction, I do not own any of the works or characters referenced. :)
> 
> Well, here goes the last chapter. Thank you very much for reading and I hope you enjoy the conclusion.

Webber had read and witnessed enough about strangling incidents to realize the method wasn't foolproof. The moment Q's body went limb; he knew he had to make certain – even if those blue-tinted lips looked like a good indicator.

Instinctively, he leaned forward, wanting to check for a pulse, and let go of the cord still wrapped around Q's throat –

And in that moment Q snapped his eyes open, delivered a swift kick to Webber's groin and rolled away when the older man toppled to the ground, crippled by pain. The cord was still around his neck, uncomfortably tight, but he could breathe. His vision was spotty, his glasses missing and standing was out of question – and relying on memory, he went for the gun.

Agony flared in his leg, and for a moment the world faded into black, but then his hand connected with a piece of cold metal. Webber cursed loudly, and Q managed to gasp the gun and turn into Webber's direction, only to have a heavy object sail past his head, close enough to brush his hair.

"Stop!" he ordered, though not even half of it came out clearly. His throat was on fire, his voice hoarse – and that damn cord was still there, and even if he had the gun, his vision was atrocious without his glasses, and Webber was all but a moving blur.

Yet he did stop moving. At least that was what it looked like – Q realized he needed to find his glasses quick or shoot – and while his hand was steady enough he didn't -

Suddenly the door opened.

* * *

Doors to the rooms that held explosives, or were geared for experiments were solid, reinforced and soundproofed. Bond and M had no idea of the scene awaiting them – but both had their guns drawn in seconds.

"Freeze," M ordered, without a hitch in his voice.

Bond surveyed the room; there was blood on the floor, and Webber was leaning awkwardly against a desk, his lab coat askew and with bloody claw marks on the side of his face. Opposite him was Q, half propped up on one arm, with an extension cord tangled awkwardly around his throat, glasses missing, hair even more of a mess than usual and aiming a gun at Webber while blood was spreading around him.

Q turned toward them, letting the gun sink on M's order, while Webber sighed loudly.

Whatever tension had been in the air vanished abruptly. M felt it as well, so he put his own weapon away and instead stepped forward.

"Bond, inform medical – have them send a team down here. Q, Webber, what on earth is going on?"

Bond nodded and walked over to the phone installed on the wall – it was old, probably from the 70ties, but it had been installed for emergencies, and in-house calls got faster responses than those made from his mobile.

M walked straight over to Q who was, somewhat inefficiently, trying to untangle himself. Already dark bruises were appearing where the cable had been, and Q was steadily paling. Bond had definitely seen more blood spilled in his career, but this was not little. (And there had not been much when the former M had died either).

Instead of waiting for an explanation from either employee, M set to work, helping Q unwind the cord. And it may have been Bond's skewered line of vision, but he was fairly certain M was grimacing when the extent of Q's injuries became visible. Next was a tourniquet for the still bleeding leg wound – probably caused by a bullet, since Bond did not see any knifes in the vicinity.

Once Q was propped up against a wall, Bond caught sight of another movement from the corner of his eye. He whirled around, ready to shoot, only to see Webber swallowing something.

"Cheers," he said, but his eyes weren't smiling, "See you all in hell."

M rose, about to question his weird behavior, but Webber abruptly collapsed. He gasped for air, his body twitched awkwardly – and then went still.

"Poison," said Bond, and M nodded, the frown lines on his forehead deepening.

Both men had seen too much death to freeze in this situation. Like a clockwork both directed their attention back to Q, who was squinting in the direction of Webber's now motionless body. Bond saw his glasses on the floor, picked them up and brought them over.

"Thank you," rasped Q when Bond pressed them into Q's hands.

"You probably should refrain from speaking for the time being, Q," said M, eyeing the bruising on Q's throat with thinly veiled concern.

Which would not help with explanations, thought Bond, but he was in agreement with his superior. Q appeared to be running on willpower alone, and if he looked as if a strong wind could blow him over on a good day, he looked worse now.

Then medical arrived, and the doctor in question frowned darkly – and M and Bond understood that questions would have to wait for a while.

* * *

M returned to his office, to find Tanner chatting with Moneypenny. And there were a number of thick files that had not been here when he had left – there was that appointment with the Ministry of Defense later today; and he still hadn't gotten prepared. And he would need a change of clothes – there was blood on this set.

"Si – what on earth happened?" Tanner's eyes widened, and Moneypenny did not get up – but one of her hands dropped to the phone, stopping over two shortcut buttons – one for medical, another for a general emergency.

M sighed and lifted his hands, gesturing for both to calm down.

"Not mine," he offered, and while Tanner appeared a bit relieved, Moneypenny frowned.

"However, it appears the saboteur has been found," said M, and both straightened up, "This is a preliminary conclusion, so I would appreciate if you could treat the info as confidential for the time being."

M pulled another chair over, and sat down heavily. "A first analysis of the explosive brought showed certain similarities of our own manufacturing. Q did realize this, checked and found that two of these objects had been removed from storage using Mr. Webber's security codes."

He stopped, but neither Moneypenny nor Tanner showed any outward emotion. They had both been with the service too long to visibly react to unexpected news.

"Q informed me he intended to question Mr. Webber on this – however when 007 and I arrived on scene some sort of fight had taken place. It appears Mr. Webber was behind the bomb."

"A fight?" repeated Tanner and raised both eyebrows. Then his eyes found the bloodstains on M's shirt again. "Are they alright?"

M sighed. "Webber killed himself after we arrived. Q is being treated at medical right now."

He would have to get an update later on. Q had appeared okay on the scene, but there might have been injuries beyond the bullet wound and throat damage.

Moneypenny pursed her lips, while Tanner cleared his throat. "What happened there?"

"As of yet, we don't know. Mr. Webber did probably not take well to being confronted over his actions, but concerning his motives we remain in the dark. Possibly Q will be able to help us out once he is recovered enough," said M, and as a watch chimed, he realized he really needed to get ready for that meeting.

He had to be at the Ministry in fifty minutes – the commute along did take thirty, and he was still in bloodied clothes.

* * *

Moneypenny and Tanner had made a straight way up to medical on the third floor, and had been turned away. Q was in surgery, and wasn't expected to wake for at least four hours. Probably longer if the shadows under his eyes were taken into consideration

On their way back down they encountered Bond.

"You, here?" asked Eve, "I thought you were allergic to medical."

Bond shrugged. "They stuck me with the paperwork."

"Right, you went down to the lab with M," said Tanner, "Can you explain what happened? M sort of sketched it out for us, but I have to be honest, there are a number of details still quite blurry."

"I don't know more than M does," replied Bond, "You'd have to ask Q for details."

There was a frown on his face, and while everybody else would have read disdain for incomplete knowledge in this, Moneypenny could see concern hidden behind it. It made her feel better this bleak evening to realize that as mentally screwed and unstable as MI6's top personnel was, there was still space to actually develop human relations.

Sometimes when she met with old college friends, she couldn't help but feel a bit envious to hear them talking about their office jobs – where the major concerns were relationships, quarrels and just normal human interactions between colleagues.

"Aren't the labs under constant surveillance?" asked Tanner when they were getting off the elevator.

"They should be," said Moneypenny.

"Then we should check," suggested Bond.

* * *

When M returned from his meeting at the Ministry he felt ready to go home. However, he went to his desk, checking his emails to see whether any national emergency requiring his immediate attention had crept up – they had a nasty habit of doing this at the end of long days – though today luck was in his favor.

Then he saw a memo from Moneypenny, regarding the incidents at Q branch.

It turned out she, Tanner and Bond had tapped into their surveillance system and gotten hold of the feed from those installed in the armory. Moneypenny hadn't commented much, just suggested that this quite cleared up what had happened.

M pursed his lips, and let the video play.

There was Q entering the armory, engaging Webber, and while all seemed normal in the beginning, the situation grew tense and tenser when Webber failed to deny any accusation. Instead the long-time employee set out on a half-manic rant, and M could discern how Q tried to subtly make his way back to the door.

Then the gun was fired and chaos broke out. The fight, from what M could see on the grizzly images provided by the surveillance cameras, was nasty – and Webber easily had the upper hand. Q however was clever, and what M had to admit was a risky gambit, paid off.

Not long afterwards the video showed Bond and himself bursting in, and M stopped there.

He leaned back in his armchair, and glanced outside. Night had fallen hours ago – and even most other office building in London had turned off their lights. M could feel his own eyelids growing heavy.

It was time to go home.

* * *

Before going to her own desk in the next morning, Moneypenny dropped by at medical. Originally she had intended to ask the staff for information on Q's condition – to her surprise however, a nurse told her to go in and ask him herself.

Q was sitting upright in bed, a laptop balanced on his knees. When Moneypenny entered, he glanced up and smiled at her.

"Morning, Eve," he said, and then turned back to the screen.

"Good morning, Q," she replied and eyed him critically. The bandage around his head had been joined by one around his throat, the cardigan dropped over the standard issue hospital pajamas hung loosely off his bony shoulders and his face was as white as the wall.

"Shirking work?" Q asked, and cast her a smirk. Moneypenny returned it – Q may look as if a truck had run him over, but the shadows under his eyes were about gone, and there was a playful sparkle in his eyes.

"Not yet," replied Moneypenny, "But if you're offering, I'm going to come and hide here later on."

Q tilted his head. "I don't intend to be here later on."

"Really? Don't say you got homesick?" Moneypenny raised one well-shaped eyebrow.

Q shrugged. "No, but even cacti only survive so long without water. But I was thinking of finishing work here first. I do suppose there are questions?"

"Supposing medical will actually release you – which I honestly doubt – they will send you straight home. As for questions; we got to see the surveillance tape, so I believe most of them are answered."

Q swallowed. "That's good?"

"I suppose so," said Moneypenny with a gentle smile, "Well, they will need a report at some point, but I think you can concentrate on recovering for the time being."

* * *

When M entered his office, he found Bond sitting in his chair, reading the file on the sabotage incidents M had prepared last night. He made certain to shut the door loudly, and Bond glanced up, completely unperturbed.

"So, what exactly were those health concerns?" asked Bond, who remembered encountering Webber in the gym far more often than anybody else from his demographic.

M nodded. "Brain tumor. Untreatable, and from what I understand my predecessor decided he ought to have his remaining time to himself. That's why he wasn't promoted."

And also because MI6 had been in dire need of changes; the kind of changes that Webber would have been unable to introduce, which was why they had ended up with the youngest department head anybody could remember.

Bond shook his head. "Well, he's dead now anyway."

He closed the file, tossed it back on the desk and got up from M's chair. "Any update on Q?"

M set down his briefcase with a sigh. "You'll need to update yourself, 007. Anyhow, I'll be expecting you at 1400 concerning a situation in Ecuador. You're flying out tonight, so start packing."

Bond shrugged, and sauntered out without a further word.

M felt like groaning – instead he put his head in his hands for a moment and wondered how his predecessor had made Bond accept her authority.

* * *

Bond didn't really know what brought him to the third floor of MI6 – he had been here maybe five times during his entire career, and at three of those incidents he had been unconscious. Still, finding Q's room was ridiculously easy.

He entered after a short knock and found Q on a bed, surrounded by two laptops, three further monitors and one large screen mounted to a medical trolley. All were displaying rows and rows of code, as well as maps with blinking dots, and one monitor had four different camera feeds up.

Q glanced up. "007?"

Bond raised an eyebrow. "Back to work already?"

He received a shrug in return. "They won't let me leave any earlier than tonight, and it's not as if anything interesting is happening outside."

Bond followed the nod over to the medium-sized window. Beyond an overcast London sky and building rooftops nothing was visible. Granted, it were some pretty rooftops, including old churches, but Bond could see how they did get boring.

"So you're working instead," said Bond.

Q pursed his lips. "My options are a little limited, and I doubt MI6 would appreciate me downloading random movies over their network. To say nothing of testing the security of other institutions."

Bond translated this to mean hacking the CIA, the IMF and whatever else struck Q's fancy. He nodded with a quirk of his lips. "Indeed."

Outside, a nurse walked past – they only heard the clacking of her heels.

"Neither do I indulge in your pastimes, 007," said Q dryly.

"It's not a pastime – I am merely making best of my opportunities," replied Bond smoothly. Q clearly didn't believe him, but refrained from pushing the subject. Instead he called up a data sheet.

"You're off to Ecuador tonight," he said, "Smuggle, and possible biological weapons development. M's going to give you the details later on, and check with Dr. Marbach for gun and radio. They should have them ready by now."

Bond nodded. Q frowned, and then added: "They should be fine, but make sure you test both to see if they're functional."

"I'm sure they'll be fine," said Bond.

Q nodded, looking distracted for a moment. He still had to wrap his head around the fact that they had caught the saboteur, and that it had been Webber – a well-loved, familiar face in Q branch.

"He was a friend of yours, wasn't he?" Q inquired abruptly, then managed a thin smile. "In that case I'm sorry for your…"

"He wasn't a friend," interrupted Bond. He had liked Webber, but what had connected them had been a sense of camaraderie established over a fairly long time. They had been acquaintances, but never friends.

"And he brought it upon himself," said Bond with a careless shrug, "There is no need for any sympathies – least of all from you."

Q looked away from Bond's intense gaze. "Well, I … I was surprised myself. I mean I know some people weren't too happy with my promotion, but I didn't expect Webber of all people to react like that. It makes sense in hindsight, of course, but, well… it is a little depressing."

Bond frowned, and then sat down on the chair next to Q's bed, much to the younger man's surprise.

"That's human beings for you," said Bond. He had seen far worse betrayals – he couldn't bring himself to feel very shocked at Webber's actions.

"I suppose so," said Q, unhappy, "Anyway, I'll remember this the next time a similar situation occurs."

Once again Bond was reminded of the age gap between them. As brilliant as Q was, he definitely lacked experience – but apparently he was rather aware of that now.

"I would also recommend not confronting suspected traitors alone in the future," suggested Bond, with a pointed glance at the loose cardigan. A mandatory escort wouldn't have been out of place, considering Q's importance in the scheme of things either.

Q sighed. "I will try to remember it – and you try to remember to bring your equipment back this time."

* * *

It was dark again outside when Q finally received the okay to leave. Medical provided him with a crutch since his leg refused to bear his weight. Thanks to a gratuitous dose of painkillers he didn't feel anything, but it made walking a little difficult.

He'd probably take a cab, even though the tube was still running. But he'd draw to much attention now – a quick glance in the mirror had revealed he didn't really look too healthy.

When he reached the elevator he found M.

"Sir," Q said, intending to pass, but to his surprise M turned around and joined him in the elevator.

"Going home Q?" he asked.

"Yes, medical let me go," said Q.

"Well, if you want to, feel free to work from home the rest of the week," said M with a nod to Q's stiff leg, "Also, I would like you to consider an escort. I know you insisted on playing inconspicuous, so if not permanent, at least think about having one while on duty."

Q pursed his lips. "While I understand your concern, I still believe any action that might make me stand out in a situation outside of headquarters would be … ill-advised."

M sighed, and Q could see exhaustion in his features.

"At least consider it," said M, "We'd all be sleeping a little better for it."

* * *

The following day dawned rainy and grey and no different from its predecessors. Moneypenny arrived early, armed with coffee and donuts – which M and Tanner were quite thankful for. There were a number of updates from their agents – Bond had arrived in Ecuador, 002 was making his way through Laos and 008 had updates from Libya – and the press was wildly speculating about CIA involvement in a bombing in Pakistan.

Q limped in at quarter past eleven, and was greeted quite enthusiastically by his department. When Moneypenny dropped down to whisk him away for a lunch break, she found several boxes of tea, biscuits and donuts all over his desk. Also, a bright red alarm clock.

"It's not an intervention," said Q, "But Dr. Marbach and some others are threatening to kick me out if I stay overtime this week."

Moneypenny smiled. "I think you should introduce me to this Dr. Marbach, then."

Bond was just outside of Quito, gun in hand, making his way through a seemingly abandoned factory building, when the com in his ear came to life.

"Try the second door on your left, 007," said a familiar voice.

Bond smiled. "Q."

_Fin_


End file.
